Map out the epic of my youth

If you will

Upon these tempting, empty pages

That cannot help but ask

To be written and re-written upon

With heartfelt cry and Hamlet heavy anguish

Wrapped into words too dry

To be adequate packaging

And metaphors so cliché they lose their meaning

Dwindling into pop culture references

Adrift in a shallow sea too earnest for irony

All rhymes and wordplay and unfinished song

And thoughts cut down in the spring.

I really am so much better at writing plays.